While sitting in his waiting room,
I first noticed the dentist’s name.
I had gone to school with a boy
Whose name had been the very same.

I could picture him quite clearly;
He was a tall and handsome youth.
Now was he to be the dentist
Who was going to pull my tooth?

But, just then I saw the doctor,
He was a bald and wrinkled man.
I could picture him at breakfast
Drinking prune juice and eating bran.

But why not ask him anyway
And find out where he’d gone to school?
Though when it comes to guessing age,
I’m not an easy one to fool.

Indeed, he’d been that handsome youth!
But how it hurt, oh dread the thought,
When I said he’d been my class,
He asked which class it was I’d taught!